


Death in Victory

by Hiddlefun



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Magic, Possible Iron Man 3 Spoilers, Thor 2 Spoilers, Universe Alterations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 19:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiddlefun/pseuds/Hiddlefun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki would win, and on his terms.</p>
<p>If that meant tethering himself to the Man of Iron for an indeterminate amount of time, well, he would just have to deal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death in Victory

**Author's Note:**

> My first foray into writing FrostIron. Let me know what you think!

_“To many men...the miasma of peace seems more suffocating than the bracing air of war.”_

George Steiner

What burned Loki the most was how they all seemed to have forgotten just how powerful he was, and would come to be. While they all brushed off his attacks as if he was only capable of them with the assistance of others (or in one case, The Other), or attributed them to temporary madness, no one seemed to remember just what his position in their world was. Fallen prince, Jotunn, yes, they never let _him_ forget that. But the harbinger and cause of Ragnarok…

Everyone had forgotten that.

He had spent his entire life skulking about the nine realms, collecting secrets and debts. Even if he did not destroy or take Asgard by violence, he could certainly do so with his store of knowledge alone.

And should he elect to combine the two efforts? Asgard would fall at his feet, and the victory would be far more biting, enduring, _devastating._

ÞþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþÞ

The war had been entirely unforeseen. For all Odin’s wisdom, for all of Heimdall’s watching, none were prepared for the blow when it came. The battle was short-lived, and the losses—in the millions. All of Asgard had been ravaged, be it by enemies, or by creatures and people that had been allies of Asgard for millennia. For Loki had collected upon his debts, and knew how best to upset the fragile control Odin had over his people. For all of Asgard’s perceived stability (after all, something that remains utterly unchanged for thousands of years surely must be the best kind of stable?), the place had become stagnant. When stagnancy abounds, secrets and reputation become devastating.

As had the victory been…utterly _devastating_.

In the end, it was only Thor returning to Asgard with his fellow Avengers that kept all of the golden realm from burning. The Liesmith had given up on ruling any realm. He was not the sort to glory in the gaze of millions of subjects, as it was. He had moved to a much more poisonous dream. Asgard would be set ablaze by its former allies, all while the Royal family was helpless to do anything but watch.

Thor and his friends had managed to end the assault, and put out some of the fires. As it always had, it came to Thor to try and stop his little brother. As always, he had failed. Loki would always want the last word, and he had gotten it. As the Avengers had looked on, the Prince with no realm had seized hold of his brother. Where before Loki had been quiet even in his rage, his voice and actions had become deafening. He roared his incantations, savagely rampaging and ravaging even as his spell wound itself around him, blinding him as much as his rage.

No one understood what had happened. Loki hadn’t teleported, hadn’t been eviscerated; yet he was gone, and with a sense of finality that his actions rarely expressed. The entire palace had been virtually leveled, Mjolnïr pushing back the blast the only thing to save the Avengers. All around them, rubble, silence. No trace of Loki to be found. No one could sense him, nor see him. Even JARVIS was unable to detect him.

He was gone, then. The knowledge shouldn’t sting as much as it does.

ÞþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþþÞ

It had worked, every bit of it. And Loki couldn’t be more pleased. His body was destroyed, but so was everything the Allfather had held dear. And it was sweet.

His spellwork had been brilliant, if he did say so himself (nobody else would, so why shouldn’t he?) When the leveling blast had emanated from his body, he had tethered his soul to the nearest organic being he could. It had been difficult to work around the metal suit of armor, but was nothing compared to the resolve it had taken to actually fulfill the requirements for the curse.

Of course, he would have to find a body of his own, soon. His soul could remain tethered for a short time, but the longer it was, the more tangled the situation would become. So, lie low, keep his head down, and possess the first person he came across that he could take far away from the Avengers. Really, he could do that. It wasn’t much different from everything else he had been doing for the last few hundred years. Now to take stock of his surroundings.

The Avengers were all checking the area for further traps and tricks (most had been detonated by the blast, but he couldn’t resist setting a few here and there to cause a little mayhem.), searching for survivors, or working on clean-up duty. All accept the one he had tethered himself to.

The god of mischief’s soul (for he did have one, regardless of what others may have insinuated) floated around his host, surveying him. It was Thor’s Man of Iron. Not exactly who he would have chosen, but at least it wasn’t the green beast he had encountered on his later invasions of Midgard. His host was standing apart from the others, simply surveying the damage and chaos Loki had wrought. Thor gestured to him, but he merely shook his head.

If Loki’s incorporeal self hadn’t been hovering so close to him, he wouldn’t have heard him speak at all. “JARVIS.”

A second voice seemed to be coming from inside the suit. Loki was quite sure no one else could fit inside the suit, but could not see nor sense another soul tethered to it. He would have to study it later. “Sir?”

“He’s gone.” The man of Iron lowered himself to the ground, resting against some rubble. He lifted off his metal face mask, revealing the version of the man Loki was only slightly more used to. Stark was sweaty from the battle, hair plastered to his face and neck. There was exhaustion in his eyes, but a stubbornness about his countenance that seemed to keep him from letting his guard down. Loki studied him, continuing to hover just to his right.

After a moment’s pause, the disembodied voice replied “Yes, sir. It would seem so.”

Tony closed his eyes, rubbing his damp face with his metal-covered hands. “And you’re sure?”

There was only a little less hesitation from the voice this time. “All evidence would point to this conclusion, Sir.”

Tony curled in on himself a little, leaning his head against his knees. He really was exhausted. He hadn’t exactly been at top health when good old Capsicle had made the call to assemble. He’d been freshly burned by his breakup with Pepper, and had been pulling more of an all-weeker than an all-nighter. He managed to stay awake by keeping just a smidge more coffee in his system than alcohol, and was focusing on fixing his suit to distract himself from the fact that he couldn’t fix his relationships. But really, that was nothing new. And so came the call to travel all the way to fucking _Asgard,_ to fight their so-called “Final Battle for Good and Blah Blah Blah.” By that point, he had been doing well to even keep standing, much less listen to aliens whine about honor and age-old vendettas. Still, he had answered the call to arms. He didn’t regret it, per se, but…it was strange. Battles with Loki had become sort of a staple over the last few years, and the idea that the opportunity to exchange witty remarks with someone of his own mental caliber was forever gone was…well, hard to get used to. Not that he’d been trying for very long. Loki had only been dead for fifteen minutes, maybe half an hour. Surely he would get used to it after a while. All things with time.

“So…Loki’s gone.” Loki had been watching the others, as Tony’s contemplative face had grown a bit boring. At the mention of his own name, he turned his attention back to his host. Was the Man of Iron lamenting the loss of Loki? They had had some interesting exchanges before, it was true, but he hadn’t thought the other man had grown attached to him.

He hadn’t, not really. At the most, Tony Stark had grown attached to the often humorous distraction from the growing apathy and violence surrounding New York. He didn’t really care where it came from, not at all. Nope. And _if_ the distraction just happened to come in the form of someone a little attractive, a little sexy, and a _lot_ forbidden, well, that wasn’t exactly a deterrent.

But was the Man of Iron inquiring out of concern that Loki might be planning some sort of ambush, or from concern that he might never get the opportunity again? Loki moved as close as he dared (which wasn’t much, as he was unaware of how sensitive the human’s instruments and sensors were), scrutinizing his human host. Neither the human nor the disembodied voice spoke again. Loki turned his attention elsewhere. Was it safe to try testing the limitations of the tethering now? One look at the dozens of wary guards around him suggested otherwise. Perhaps a time to rest, then. But he wouldn’t do so, not so out in the open, if he could avoid it. Perhaps he could convince his host to sequester himself away from the others without making anyone aware of his presence. It would be more than a little dangerous to use any magic to create a distraction while in this state. Was it possible to go for the old throw-a-rock-in-the-direction-you-want-them-to-go trick? The disembodied soul of the Prince tried to lift one of the lighter bits of rubble near them. It was incredibly difficult; even if he could lift something larger with ease, it would be too conspicuous.

“Stark. You alright?” The Widow wasn’t really one to show concern for others often, but she still saw herself as a bit of a handler to Tony sometimes. Honestly, the man sort of needed it. He wasn’t exactly great at taking care of himself, even if he could survive in a cave for months virtually on his own.

“I’m f—”

“Don’t say you’re ‘fine.’” From anybody else, this wouldn’t sound intimidating. As it was, Stark and Loki had both been around Agent Romanov enough to sense the underlying threat. Tony started to say something snarky, but caught himself. Though he was too tired to remain very alert, Romanov was very obviously still in battle mode. Probably wasn’t a very good idea to sass her, his oft-unheard sense of self-preservation pointed out. Romanov and Loki surveyed Stark’s expression, and came to the same conclusion. “You’re useless in this state. Go find a quiet place and sleep.”

Before he could argue, two guards appeared, apparently meaning to escort him to and guard him in some relatively undamaged room he could sleep in. With more than a few sighs and grunts, Stark stood up. He chose to ignore the creaks of busted metal rubbing together, and the showers of sparks the battle-damaged suit let off. “Fine. Fine, fine, fine.” Well, if he couldn’t say he _was_ fine, he’d at least say _fine_ and get the last word in. Still, he let the guards lead him (and subsequently Loki) away down what was (presumably) once a hallway. Stepping over scattered metal and shattered glass, Stark focused on what was directly ahead of him. He hadn’t realized just how close he was to passing out until he had stood up. The room wasn’t quite spinning, but surely, even with the destruction wrought by Loki, the floor and ceiling couldn’t be _that_ crooked, could they? Perhaps resting wasn’t too bad an idea. After all, Loki _was_ gone…Stark entered the room, too tired to make much note of anything but that it was mostly whole, seemed secure, and had a bed.  He really didn’t care if the guards stayed or not; JARVIS would wake him at any threat.  Stark left the suit as soon as the doors closed.  The man practically fell into the warm furs of the bed.  Hot, sticky fur was probably the last thing he needed right now, but he was feeling far too lazy to move it away.  He curled up on the bed, not bothering to get under the covers.

Loki moved to sit in a chair on the other side of the room, and learned just how short their tether was.  No matter how hard he tried to pull away, he kept snapping right back to the human’s side.  Now that would get annoying fast. Unable to move much farther from Tony than two feet, he decided there was little harm in using the bed as well.  It certainly was large enough for the two of them to comfortably lie on together.  What could a little snooze hurt?  One benefit of not having a physical body anymore was that there was no undressing, and no being bothered by what he would have normally found to be relatively unpleasant, warm temperatures.  As such, Loki was able to bury himself in the soft furs and revel in it.  The last time he had even come close to such luxury must have been before Thor had been banished to Midgard.  Loki sneered at the thought, though no one would be able to see his lip curl so unpleasantly.  How they had all fallen.  No Queen, a dying, crazed King, an absent Crown Prince, and a forgotten little Jotunn nobody.  Now who would rule the shining realm? 

Not that there was much left to be ruled.

Hours passed, and soon it was that night fully fell.  The Man of Iron was shivering; it seemed that his sweat had cooled him as soon as he had given in to sleep.  Looking down, Loki found that the younger man had unknowingly coiled himself around the god (not that he would find much warmth from him.  Even the Aesir form of his body had been colder than most, and his bodiless form certainly wouldn’t be much warmer.), seeking some form of warmth.  The thought of cuddling with anyone, much less someone the Mischief Maker saw as a threat and enemy was utterly repugnant, he mused.  But so was tethering his unarmed self to a human.  He had made one concession in the name of survival.  How many more would he make? 

It could get awfully chilly at night, and the guards had been too worried about the spreading fires to light the fireplace…It could happen once, without too much risk, couldn’t it?  It would be nice to take some measure of comfort from someone after so very long…Just tonight, he tells himself, and in the morning…well, that wouldn’t arrive for some time yet.  Best not to think of it.

Loki found that while he couldn’t move inanimate objects, nor Stark while he remained in the suit, their tether allowed him to manipulate his host’s body in minor ways quite easily.  Before long they were both nestled together under several layers of furs and blankets, and if someone would have accused Loki of nuzzling into the warm chest of his host, he would have (perhaps a little too quickly and matter-of-factly) told them that he was simply studying the man’s arc reactor.  It was purely platonic curiosity. 

Mostly.


End file.
